


Telling Santa

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffie Advent Calendar 2020 [9]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Smut, F/M, Post-Book 3: Mockingjay, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: She lifted her eyebrows but didn’t even try to fight her smile. It turned into a laugh when he finally exited the bathroom with a sexy swagger, a Santa hat on top of his head, a bushy fake white beard on his chin, and nothing else.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Series: Hayffie Advent Calendar 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031940
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30
Collections: Hayffie Christmas Stories





	Telling Santa

**Author's Note:**

> What would Christmas season be without some coconuts ;) 
> 
> Prompt “I don’t think Santa wears that…”

For the first time in a long time Effie was happy.

She had finally settled in Twelve, she had a hand on her trauma, and she and Haymitch were better than ever… _And_ it was Christmas and Haymitch and the children were willing to humor her and go all out with decorations.

Yes, she mused as she sat in bed, rubbing creams on her hands, waiting for Haymitch to finally come out of the bathroom, she was utterly _happy_.

“Are you alright?” she called out eventually.

He had been in there a long time and she hadn’t heard the shower running so it begged the question of what he was doing. She hoped he wasn’t sick. A sick Haymitch was _terrible_.

“I’m coming!” he answered. “Got a surprise for you!”

She lifted her eyebrows but didn’t even try to fight her smile. It turned into a laugh when he finally exited the bathroom with a sexy swagger, a Santa hat on top of his head, a bushy fake white beard on his chin, and nothing else.

If you excepted the erection he must have been working on in there.

“ _Ho, ho, ho_ …” he faked laughed, very pleased with himself, wiggling his penis instead of his stomach like a proper Santa would do.

It made her laugh harder.

_Gosh_ , he could be _so_ ridiculous…

She _loved_ him for it.

“I do not think Santa wears _that_ …” she managed to pip through her chuckles, pointing at his groin.

“If he had you sitting on his lap, he _would_.” he snorted, dropping down on the old frayed armchair in the corner he refused to get rid of. He patted his thighs. “Hop on and tell Santa what you want for Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Kinky.” she commented, pushing the sheets away and gracefully exiting the bed. She felt his heated gaze run all over her body. She forced herself not to second-guess, reminded herself he didn’t mind the ugly scars, that all he was seeing was probably the short lacy peach nightgown… It was a bit old, nothing he hadn’t seen a thousand times before, but he did love it on her.

His hands reached out as soon as she was within touching distance and lifted her up to sit her down on his lap, as promised. She shifted until his erection poked her in just the right place, rocking her hips once or twice, loving the way his fingers clenched at her waist…

The first thing she did was take off the fake beard. She made sure to adjust the hat right back on his head when she was done.

“I dislike beards.” she offered as an explanation when he lifted his eyebrows. “You know that.”

His mouth twitched up into a smirk, most likely because of the stubble covering his cheeks that she usually complained about for show. But it was different. She liked the raspy feeling of it against her inner thighs.

“Tell Santa what you want for Christmas, sweetheart.” he encouraged, bouncing her once on his knees.

It made things rub against her core. She tossed her head back and didn’t complain.

She didn’t complain either when his warm palm traveled up her arm and toyed with the strap of her nightgown.

“Well, _Santa_ , I would not mind if my boyfriend shaved.” she hummed.

“That’s hard even for Santa since you’re not sixteen and you _don’t_ have a boyfriend.” he retorted, slowly pushing the strap down her shoulder.

“I _do_.” she insisted. “He is a _very_ jealous sort. I am not quite sure he would approve of this…”

Her breast was out and he lost no time cradling it in his hand, gently kneading it, toying with her nipple…

“Agree to disagree. Pretty sure he’d get a kick out of watching you getting _fucked_ by Santa.” he countered.

“ _Any_ Santa?” she challenged. “Because he is not much of a _watcher_ when it comes to me… He would hate to share. I suggested threesomes enough times to know that…”

His thumb flicked her nipple and she tossed her head back again, not resisting at all when he moved her around so she was sitting with her back to his chest. Her legs fell open on either side of his and she started rocking her hips again… Rubbing against his hardness, getting exactly what she wanted…

He pushed down the other strap and the nightgown flooded down to her waist…

“This is good enough.” He pointed at the wardrobe and she caught their reflection in the mirror, she caught his smug expression.

She laughed again.

“All that laughter ain’t very flattering, princess…” he snorted in her neck, playfully biting down but without using teeth – because it was her bad shoulder and he knew better. It turned into a kiss. Then he licked the side of her neck and she leaned back harder against him, properly hot and bothered.

“ _Fuck_ me, Santa.” she joked.

Not unpredictably, his hips buckled at the profanity.

“That’s what you want for Christmas?” he teased, sucking her earlobe in his mouth. “A good old _fucking_?”

“Yes.” she answered without hesitation, watching them in the mirror, watching the way his hand ran all over her front, her breasts, her stomach… They hadn’t done it in front of a mirror often. She had forgotten how thrilling it could be.

“But have you been a good girl, Effie?” he taunted, his hand flat on her stomach to press her back against him, to put just the right pressure for his own pleasure…

“There has been no complaint.” she hummed, reaching behind her for his neck, her hand finding his nape, gripping it hard… “Do I get my present now?”

His mouth ran on her shoulder even as his hands lifted her up again. She didn’t have a good purchase in this position. She tried to help by propping herself up on the armrests so he could line up with her but, in the end, all she could do was slowly sink down the moment she felt him poke his head into her… She made it last, going down inch by inch…

“Enjoying your gift?” he mumbled in her ear, a bit out of breath.

His thighs were tensed, his _body_ was tensed with the effort of staying still, of letting her call the shots…

“Very much.” She grinned. “Perfect size.”

“Not too big?” he taunted, twisting her nipple without warning. She pushed down harder by reflex. A little cry escaped her.

She turned her head, seeking his mouth… It met hers in a feverish kiss.

“Are you looking for flattery?” she teased against his lips, as his hands travelled down to her waist.

“Maybe.” He snorted, lifting her up and pulling her back down. She used her hold on the armrests but sitting as she was, there was not much she could do but let him use her. She liked being in control, a lot more now than she did before the war for various reasons, but she was happy to let him take charge at that moment. 

“So big.” she breathed out with just a touch of taunting. “Fills me just right…”

“Now, you’re just mocking me.” he complained. “You sound like a porn star.”

Wasn’t that a little gem of information he had let slipped out… “Have you been watching porn lately, Haymitch?”

He froze for a second and then resumed _fucking_ her. “No.”

It was a blatant lie but she let it slide. She did not mind. Not _truly_. “Invite me next time. Perhaps we can find something fun to watch together.”

He stilled again but it didn’t last long and he slammed her down into him harder. “ _Fuck_ , but I… I…”

His voice stopped short of the _L_ sound. He sounded a bit frustrated.

It wasn’t the first time he tried to tell her.

She erased the word from his mouth with a kiss, chasing it with her tongue… He held her tighter… One of his hands slipped down, found her clit…

The position wasn’t the best for her but he was an expert at playing her body. She felt the pleasure build, felt just how sweet the release would be… She chased after it, kissing him harder, kneading her own breasts… She came with a cry that his kiss muffled a little…

Dazed and basking in the bliss, she let him do what he needed to come, watching their reflection in the mirror…

She loved that second of perfect happiness that always flashed on his face when he found his release… It made her proud that she had done that, helped him shed his worries for a brief moment.

He carried her to the bed afterwards, buried the two of them under the heaps of blankets she insisted on piling on the bed until they were wrapped in a warm safe cocoon. She found his body and curled up around it, feeling deliriously happy when he embraced her right back without a second of hesitation.

Sometimes, she thought that her nightmare in that Capitol prison had been worth it just for _this_ , for the way he had realized just how precious she was to him, how _essential_. She wasn’t sure what it said about her. She wasn’t sure she cared.

“I’m not your boyfriend.” he grumbled after a few minutes, a bit sleepily. “I’m too old to be someone’s _boyfriend_.”

“What would you like me to call you, then?” she challenged.

“Do you have to call me anything?” He nuzzled the crown of her head, dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Who cares?”

“People ask questions, Haymitch.” she pointed out.

“Tell them to go _fuck_ themselves.” he dismissed. She pursed her lips. She didn’t say anything but he must have heard the reproach in her silence because he sighed. “Fine. Tell them to mind their own business.”

“That is _rude_.” she argued. “And it is a _perfectly_ legitimate question to ask someone. What do you answer when someone asks you if you are single?”

“That I ain’t.” He shrugged a little, as if it was obvious. “That I’ve got someone.”

She pursed her lips harder. “I am a little insulted I am simply _someone_ to you, truth be told.”

She knew he didn’t mean anything by it. She knew he loved her. The problem was that he was never eager to acknowledge that in public. He had relaxed around the children although nothing had been officially said and, for all they knew, she was still sleeping in the guest room, but in public?

He frowned, probably hearing the slight hurt in her voice. “Why?”

“Because you are not claiming me at all.” she whispered. “I am just… _someone_.”

“A _special_ someone.” he corrected.

“That is already better.” she acknowledged, rewarding him with a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“We’re too old to be boyfriend and girlfriend.” he insisted with a sigh. “And that’s… _small_ anyway. Girlfriends and boyfriends ain’t forever.”

She was glad he couldn’t see her face, curled up together as they were, because she didn’t hide the shock well. “And _we_ are?”

They hadn’t really talked about the future. She was staying, they were living together, _trying_ to build something properly but… They had certainly _not_ talked about _absolutes_ like _forever_.

“Forever’s never guaranteed, you know that like I do.” he nuanced with an audible wince. “But I want you as long as you wanna stay… Don’t want you leaving. Don’t want to lose you again. _Ever_. So… Yeah. I guess. Why? You don’t think…”

She moved before he could finish that sentence, cupping his face in her hand and planting a long hot kiss on his lips.

“I know what I want for Christmas.” she told him with a newfound certainty.

He looked a bit taken aback by the abrupt change in subject but licked his lips. “What?”

“I want us to toast bread.” she confessed. There was a flash of panic on his face, quickly hidden away. She pressed a finger on his mouth before he could accept out of fear of losing her. “Not tonight or tomorrow. Not even next week. But… One day? When we are both ready? We do not have to make a big deal out of it and we do not have to tell anyone. I just… I want this someday. I want to be your _wife_.”

He kissed her finger and then he kissed _her_.

“We can do that.” he promised. “One day.”

She could live with that.

One day was something to hope for and she was very good at hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Some warmth in this cold December ;) Let me know your thoughts!


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